Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (16 page)

She met his eyes, a glassy
sheen in them. “And if he doesna?”

“I’ve no answer for that.
But know that you’ll not be abandoned. I dinna ken magick, but I can fight to
the bloody death. That I can offer you.” Compared to a portal home and
capturing magick, a pair of fists and some tricks to fell a man seemed meager
offerings.

Still, Ailyn smiled. “If
it’s to be to the death, better to make it good and bloody.”

Och, but this bonny, Fae
lass touched a deep part of him. A part he’d not known existed. “Aye. Good and
bloody.”

Chapter Sixteen

Not more than a handful of hours could have passed in
her slumber when Ailyn awoke to the eerie sense of someone watching her. Her
skin prickled with awareness from her scalp to her toes. Nay, not quite
awareness—magick. Dark magick that her body recognized.

Kristoph
.

She struggled to free her legs of the blanket. She got
to her feet, stumbling, dizzy in the darkness and trappings of sleep.
“Quinlan!” she called, her voice hoarse.

His magick was weaving closer. It was on her, pulling
at her. She fell to where Quinlan slept hugging his sword, a frown wrinkling
his forehead. She nudged him, trying again to speak his name and willing him in
her mind to awaken.
Quinlan
!

Kristoph was coming. She reached for her blade with
clumsy fingers, failing to grasp it. She leaned her shoulder onto his chest and
pushed. A huff of air passed from his lips. His eyes opened. He looked at her
but a second, then bolted upright. “What is it, lass?”

Ailyn felt the dark magick, like fingers crawling over
her body, searching. “He’s coming,” she slurred.

“Who? Danny?”

She shook her head and worked the pendant free from
beneath her tunic. She wrapped both hands around it, begging Quinlan with her
eyes. Kristoph could not get this pendant.

Quinlan got on his knees. “Tell me what to do.”

She didn’t know even if she could manage the words.
She couldna. A sweat broke over her back. Her throat tightened as she strained
to speak, as though in a dream. This wasna a dream. She could smell Quinlan’s
spicy soap from when he washed before bed at the small pond. She could see the
short whiskers along his jaw. This was real.

He scooped her up to stand, then turned her. “Lock
your fists tight,” he ordered, and placed her elbows outward. He grabbed her
dagger by one hand, drew his sword from its scabbard on the ground with the
other. He stood with his back to her and worked his arms through hers, hooking
elbows. Ailyn felt like a child in a game—foolish and vulnerable.

Didn’t Quinlan understand that physical prowess gave
no advantage with such darkness at work? How could holding her to him stop
Kristoph from searching her body with his dark art? But she could not say as
much. She could hardly breathe past the cloying energy crawling over her.
Kristoph’s sickly sweet smell burned her mind, dredging up memories.

He’d not always been horrific. The queen’s advisor had
once been a bit of a mentor to her. Until the day he’d shown her his true
nature.

Nausea swept up her throat. Ailyn swallowed against
it, fighting back the numbing effects the fear and magick were having on her
wits. She had to stay alert. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, shadow to
shadow. At any moment, his hand would be on her throat. Quinlan’s blade would
be used against him.

Her mother’s pendant would be ripped from her fists,
and there would be naught Ailyn could do to stop it.

“Blessed be, O Brigit, O queen, myself and
everything,” Quinlan murmured at her back in the old Fae tongue. He held his
sword aloft, turning their bodies this way and that. “Make thou me safe forever
from every evil wish and sorrow, from every brownie and banshee.”

Was he attempting an incantation? Ailyn would have
smiled if not for the grip of darkness around her. His gesture had sweetness in
it that was not lost on her.
 
The
memory of his reaction to the pendant warmed the sentiment more. This mortal
had seen little magick in his lifetime. Far, far less than she. She had never
witnessed such innocent awe in any man or child.

Mayhap the Fae were connected to more Source than her
people realized. Palpable hope rose within her over the idea. So much could be
saved.

The warmth spread through her. He intoned his words
over and again, clearly improvising at points, but the act touched her
nonetheless. It occurred to her that she should die in the next moments and the
hope of two worlds fell to darkness, she would at least have his small gift to
hold onto till the end.

In her hands, the small teardrop orb warmed as well.
The invisible grip eased enough to allow her to grunt, but the sound was beyond
pitiful. How could she communicate with whimpers and grunts? How could she warn
Quinlan that Kristoph would sense the precious object in her hands because for
some reason, it chose now to reveal itself?

The creeping feeling along her body lessened. The gem
warmed further. A glimpse of light shone through her forefinger and thumb.
“Nay,” she whispered, unmoved by the fact that she could speak again. The
ramifications of the fact were too great to ignore. “Quinlan, you must stop at
once, please.”

“Stop? Not unless you can swear on your life that the
threat you felt is gone.”

If he didna stop, the stone would soon be too hot to
grasp. The light would glow so brightly that Kristoph would certainly find
it—if he had not done so already. “I dinna know if he is present. If you
continue, he will see the stone. Please. Stop!”

Quinlan fell silent. He eased his arms from hers and
faced her. His eyes searched hers in the small light the stone offered,
although it dimmed by each passing second. He put his hands over hers and
slowly opened them until the stone lay visible, nested in her palm.

“Is he gone?” he asked.

Ailyn mentally scanned her body for signs of
Kristoph’s assaulting energy. The feeling was gone. She nodded. The stone’s
light faded to a tiny glint deep within the recesses. Ailyn returned it to
beneath her tunic.

“It protects you,” Quinlan said.

“Nay. Your incantation protected us.”

He frowned. “Then why did it glow?”

“Perhaps your words. Perhaps my reaction. I canno’ say
for certain.” The stone had not glowed so brightly or warmed so much before.
Surely it was his words. Unless it was somehow reacting to Kristoph’s magick.
She shook her head. She had no answers.

“We need to check the perimeter. You’re not to leave
my side,” he said, his face grave.

She had no desire whatsoever to leave his side. Ailyn
nodded, taking her proffered dagger. They wove through the trees, pausing,
listening. But they found no signs of danger—physical or otherwise.

“We have to assume he’ll try again,” Quinlan said,
digging through his leather pack. He retrieved a length of rope.

Ailyn’s eyebrows shot upward. “Do you think to bind me
to a tree, then?”

He gave her a crooked smile that flipped her belly
over. “I’ll be binding you, lass, but not to a tree.” He reached out a hand.
“I’m tying you to me.”

An image flashed in her mind, of her wrists tied to
his, of her thighs strapped to his, of their bodies pressed close, making every
fidget and breath an opportunity for friction. Another belly flip. This one
hitting a bit too far below the navel for her comfort. Ailyn shook her head. “I
dinna see that as necessary.”

“You couldna speak, Ailyn. Thankfully, you woke me and
communicated enough that I knew to protect you. I might have otherwise thought
you were afflicted instead.” He took her wrist and pulled her closer. “If you
canno’ speak, this way, I can at least feel you move. We’ll get a little more
rest, but I refuse to leave you vulnerable.”

A trill of warmth danced through her, settling below
her navel. She couldna argue with his reasoning. Truth be told, she didna want
to. She wanted to feel safe. At his side, she would be safe.

He wound the rope and tied it off, and then helped
negotiate their bodies into comfortable supine positions. Ailyn became acutely
aware of the heat between their bodies, of the sound of his breathing. She’d
never be able to sleep. Not with her heart skipping beats every few moments.

Kristoph would return; she felt it. But when? And at
what point would he no longer rely on his magick to search?

She shut her eyes.

“Ailyn?” Quinlan asked quietly.

“Aye?”

“Who is he?” he turned on his side a little, so that
his thigh pressed hard to hers.

Ignoring the tremble in her muscles, Ailyn took a
settling breath. “His name is Kristoph Ash’r. He is my queen’s most trusted
advisor.”

“As second in power, he’s attempting to usurp the very
person who trusts him most. Aye, every king in Ireland can attest to the
precarious nature of that trust. He’s out to overthrow the throne, then?”

She shook her head. The moon lit some of his face, the
hollow of his cheek, and part of his brow. But his eyes were in shadows and
unreadable. If he felt a similar attraction to what raced unbidden through her
veins, he showed no signs of it. “There is no way to overthrow. Fae lineage is
very specific. Only a blue blood Fae can rule and hope to keep peace among the
tribes.”

And her queen had died. There was no person to
overthrow, even if Kristoph had managed to find some way around Fae law and
connection to the Source. Ailyn welcomed the bleak conversation, though the
pain of remembering Tullah was gone keened through her. The pain focused her
mind from noticing how muscular his thigh felt against hers.

“Then what is he after?” Quinlan asked after a long
moment.

His breath was warm when it hit her face.

“Daniel is sure he wants the three stones. By joining
them, Kristoph would destroy whatever magick separates our worlds, essentially
rejoining our races.”

She wished she could see his eyes. But then, she would
also be able to see his mouth. Images of his lips filled her mind. With them
came that awful curiosity. What did a mortal kiss like? Would he use his lips?
Demandingly? Softly? She’d not kissed many, and of the handful of men she had,
one had been only for practice.

“That doesna sound so terrible,” his voice was low,
husky.

There was a certain art to kissing. What a shame it
would be if she never discovered his kiss. “It is foretold in my world that one
day our races will live as one again. But not until yours finds its magick once
more.”

“Access to that kind of power….” He paused. “I imagine
it could cause much warring.”

“My people would never survive. We are few.”

He brushed a finger over her cheek, tucking a lock of
hair off her face. Ailyn’s pulse tickled up her throat. Blessed be, she wanted
him.

Ailyn adjusted her body, attempting to create space
but instead creating friction. Flutters traveled down her belly and warmth
settled between her thighs. She ached to lean her hips closer to his.

“Try to rest,” he said. “If he comes for you, I’ll
feel it.” He wriggled their bound forearms in illustration.

Swallowing against the urge to touch him, Ailyn shook
her head and closed her eyes. Between the ache building inside her and the
knowledge that at any moment, Kristoph could return, the idea of sleep was
laughable. But she would try.

She awoke with a stiff neck and in a foul mood.

Finding Quinlan crouched over the fire, stirring it
and whistling, only worsened her mood.

“Where is Daniel?” she asked, not caring how sour she
sounded. He’d clearly not been affected in the least by last eve’s events. Or
by her.

“He’s not yet returned, lass. I caught us breakfast.
Clean up and I’ll get your belly filled. It will help.”

Ailyn stood, grimacing over the tightness in her
limbs. Two days astride had taken its toll. Albeit fighting off the urge to
writhe against Quinlan all night couldna have improved matters. Frustrating, it
was, her body so ably ignoring good sense.

She strode toward the pond, scowling at its emerald
depths, refusing to appreciate its beauty. She was in no mood for such things.
She splashed her face, smoothed her hair, and began tugging the locks into a
braid. She’d feel better once Daniel returned. They could be on their way. She
could forget her foolish thoughts about kissing and more. She could put a space
between her and Quinlan.

Mayhap mortal men did not get aroused. Perchance it
was not her that he found unappealing, but more it was a matter of basic
incompatibility between races. Except she’d seen his desire for her previously.
She’d experienced his attraction.

Could men simply halt such feelings?

She released a ragged sigh in exasperation and searched
out a twig to fray the ends of. A clean mouth would make her feel worlds
better. The better to kiss with, as well. “Stop, Ailyn,” she grumbled. “You’ve
more important matters to attend to.”

“What exactly are you telling yourself to stop, lass?”
Quinlan asked.

Startled, Ailyn spun around. “I’ll thank you to not
sneak up on me.”

He quirked one eyebrow high. “Break your fast. We’ll
start after.”

She hated his highhanded tone. “Start what, exactly?”

“Your training.”

Quinlan did all he could to hide his amusement, but it
was no easy feat. Moment by moment, Ailyn was working herself into quite a
snit. Under better circumstances, he wouldna be able to resist tweaking her
temper just a bit more. She was rather fetching when irked. Feisty, to be sure.